


it's a big, dark love (the ghosts)

by lostinthefire



Category: The Dolls of New Albion: A Steampunk Opera - Shapera
Genre: F/M, Psychic Wolves, canon with additional psychic wolves in, though they are dead at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: Annabel is tired of losing the things that matter to her. She's going to change the way this story goes.





	it's a big, dark love (the ghosts)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this earlier this year, back when Psychic Wolves for Lupercalia was going on but I never got around to posting it until now. So yeah, here it is.

Her hands shake as she thinks of him, of both of them really. She thinks about what she’s lost, about the things and people who are dear to her.

She is so, so tired of losing what matters to her, so tired of having to say goodbye. 

Annabel aches for lips against her own, for a smile she’s only earned once. She wants to feel him press against her, to have his smell, his touch, his taste.

It won’t be the same this way, with his strange, small body and mechanical motions. He won’t hold her won’t kiss her the way she wants but it will be better than this. Better than being alone and worthless, her lab her only company.

Because Jasper wasn’t the only thing that had been taken from her.

She closes her eyes and can feel Atticus at her side, his bulk pressing against her legs, offering her comfort and reassurance. He was a silent promise that she would never be alone, that he would always be her friend and companion.

But that’s not true, now is it? She knows better than to think death would skip her wolf. Whoever might be behind the machinations of what lives and dies did not care about lonely girls who had no friends. They didn’t care about girls who needed the support of the one thing that didn’t judge her, didn’t blame her, didn’t deem her unfit for not being bright, clever, and sharp enough.

Atticus was a gift, he was the most treasured thing in her life and he’s gone. Her chest is hollow, her hope almost gone.

But she won’t stand for it. She can’t. She will change how this story goes and she won’t be the sad, lonely girl forever. 

Annabel makes her hands still, her thoughts calm. She has to keep it together, has to not let emotions rule over her and instead, let the comfort of knowing she will have them back keep her steady.

Because she _will_ have them back.

There’s a tune in the back of her mind, a soft humming of pretty music that is almost distracting with how soothing it is. It’s the music of progress, she tells herself. It’s the music of freedom, of breaking the constraints set by the body and it’s perishable parts.

It is the promise of knowing she will have them forever.

She moves faster now, hooking things up and setting them in place. She will have what she wants and she won’t be alone and everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Everything will be—

She forces herself to take a breath, to steady herself once again.

She will hold the power of life and death in her hands, she will change the world. She will be worth being proud of and Jasper will love her and Atticus will be beside her once again and it will be perfect.

There a few touches left now, blood and electricity and just a few more wires. She’ll see this through, she’ll make this work.

They’ll be happy, the three of them. They’ll be happy and together and it will be all right again. Everything will be all right.

~

Everything is all right.

Annabel is happy and her dolls are happy and everything is happy.

Everything has to be happy.

It must be.

Because if it’s not happy, then she’s not sure what to do. 

If it’s not happy, she’s failed. Again. 

She can’t fail.

~

Her hands are shaking as Atticus plays snatches of a song, something she doesn’t know well because she never listened to the radio much. It’s low and sad and—

Annabel starts to scream.

Because it’s not the same. It’s not the same and she hates it. Jasper is so sad, Atticus is miserable. Everything is broken and wrong and this was _not_ how it was supposed to go.

She's still hollow inside, still alone in her head and her heart. She still longs for the touch of fur against her palms, of lips meeting hers. She misses the sound of laughter, of happy barking, of anything besides the damned radio playing bits and pieces, filling up her lab and her brain.

It’s not right, it’s not fair. She tried so hard. She tried and she tried and it got her nowhere. It got her more loneliness and probably hatred from the only ones that mattered to her in the world.

~

Annabel loses time.

~

When she comes back, her lab is smashed, notes and glass scattered everywhere. The dolls are unharmed, both sitting in a corner, she must have set them aside before she went on her tantrum, both of them watching her with the eyes she gave them. 

She should have done better with the eyes, found some way to make them more lifelike. She didn’t though and it was one more fault in the long list of ways she’s ruined everything.

“I’ll fix this,” she says softly to the pair of them. “I’ll make this right.”

She cleans her lab and packs away her notes. She can’t bring herself to destroy them, to abandon all the work in that final way, but she packs it all in a chest and locks it far away in the corner.

When she takes an ax to the pair of dolls, when she breaks them down until they are unrecognizable, she doesn’t let herself make a sound. There are no tears, there is no screaming. She’s made enough of a ruckus, enough of a scene.

They deserve peace, her loves, they deserve the freedom to leave without guilt or commotion

Only when the dolls are nothing, does she let herself lay down, 

She’s alone again. Again. Again. Agai--

She feels the scream build in her throat but bites down on her lip until it bleeds to keep it inside.

Her hands shake but she ignores it. Let them tremble, it’s not as if there’s anyone else there to see her.


End file.
